When You Wake: 149th Hunger Games
by Forevermore909
Summary: When you wake, you'll find a world around you that you didn't expect. And this... This is not a dream. When you wake, it will be a harsh reality, and chances are you won't even make it out alive. -SYOT *CLOSED*
1. Chapter 1

_ Hello, everyone! If you're here, you are probably thinking about making a character for my SYOT. I assure you, __**you should definitely do that**__. _

_ No, this is not going to be an exquisite Quarter Quell, just a regular Games. However, I have some good ideas, the Arena will be a bit different from normal, and __**it will be exciting**__. The first essential thing to make this exciting SYOT is, of course, characters._

_**I need 24 tributes**__; that's up to you. I'll put the tribute form and list __**on my profile**__, so just go there for all things SYOT__**, PM me your tributes**__ or any questions, and __**follow this story**__. I will not be accepting tributes on a first come, first serve basis… I need some great tributes, but I won't be too picky, although I might ask you to expand on some things after you submit. Good luck _

_ Thank you! __**Now here's a writing sample just for kicks**_:

**Head Gamemaker's POV:**

"Look, Kretia, let me give you some advice," The clean-cut president beckons me over and sets a firm hand on my shoulder. "It's been 149 years now since the first Hunger Games, and a whole 24 years since the last Quell which- might I just say- fell short of everyone's expectations…" He takes a deep breathe with the slightest sound of a wheeze hanging off of it. "People are getting bored of the same thing year after year… So if you want to keep this job, you better surprise me and the rest of this goddamned country. You better have us hanging off the edge of our seats with our mouths hanging open so wide they're practically unhinged. Make it _that good_."

I force my head into a slow, understanding nod and open my agonizingly dry mouth to say, "Understood, Sir," It very well might be my first year, but no one is going to cut me any slack. These are the 149th Games, and if I'm going to be planning a Quarter Quell next year- or doing anything at all, for that matter- I have to start brainstorming the most exciting twists and turns that can occur while keeping the Hunger Games conventional.

He doesn't bother to say anything further, just gives me a hard look and saunters off. Part of me knows that the president will never truly be satisfied with the works of any gamemaker, but that mostly just makes me want to impress him all the more. I note that I will most likely _not_ be getting any sleep for the next few weeks.

Images of possible arenas, mutts, and traps flash through my mind and I shake my head vigorously, pawing at my hair. _No, no, no, none of that is good enough! I must think harder, must work harder, must make this year memorable…_

Must make this year nothing but broken hearts, shattered dreams, and bloodied hands.

That's what makes it memorable.

_ Okay, okay, I can't really think of anything else to write, so… Hopefully that just gave you a good idea of my writing style, and please, please, PLEASE submit a tribute so I can love you forever. _

_**Remember to PM me the tributes and/or any questions you might have, and go to my profile for the tribute form.**_

_ Until next time!_

_**-Maddie**_


	2. District 1 Female

** Hello, everyone! I'm back with my first reaping chapter. This chapter will be focused around the beautiful creation of the mastermind that is Vanity's Insanity. Seriously, go give that boy some love.**

** -warning: this chapter might be teetering on the edge of rated M, and will probably be sad, so either brace yourself or don't read-**

** Enjoy, and don't forget to review letting me know if you liked it or not!**

**Diamante' "Dia" Verlac**

A meager amount of light floods into the alleyway that I spend my nights in. It catches every crevice in my hand, displays every bit of dark makeup that's smudged across my knuckles. I look up at the streams of sunlight, for it isn't often that I see it so early in the morning. Every fleck of dust is noticeable, and they scatter wildly when I let out a raspy cough.

A large, rough hand finds its way to my bare chest and digs its dirt-caked fingers into my right breast. I glance over at the man beside me. He's in his mid-thirties, maybe, with dark hair and a shaggy beard. _Going through divorce_, I guess, _his wife kicked him out and he's using prostitutes to compensate_. Well, I don't mind one bit as long as he enjoys his goods.

I crane my neck and ghost my lips over his, whispering, "I had fun last night," In reality, I've lost the feeling of enjoyment from these encounters. No man's touch can make me feel loved like in my dreams, but I don't get money if I don't pretend. "You're… so large." I nibble at the man's ear and watch him wedge his eyes open and look at me.

"You're so pretty, doll," He trails his dry fingers along my cheekbone. "Do I get an extra round?"

"Mm," I shake my head. "Not unless you're willing to pay extra. But I'll still let you touch, go on."

His palm searches every inch of my torso: across my protruding ribs, down my dust-freckled stomach, resting at my sharp hipbones.

A voice rings through the silence and causes the man's hand to pull back violently. "Up, up, Dia!" The voice is like two metal swords swinging at each other with that unpleasant metallic sound. "'Ey, you pig, you gonna pay extra for staying here all night?"

"It's fine, Cherry, I asked him to stay," I sit up and my platinum blonde hair falls into my eyes. "He's paid me enough already."

She shoots daggers at the man. "Well, reapings are in an hour, Dia. He better leave."

With that, he scrambles up and pulls on his pants wearily. Cherry flashes her rotted teeth at me. "Got half of whatever he paid you?" I nod and hand her some of my paycheck from last night. Cher always collects some of what every prostitute got, because she's what holds us together and we all owe her for being here at all. It seems a small price to pay.

"You've got to get ready," Cherry squatted down to level her face with mine. Her breasts are nearly spilling out of the tight corset that she sports day to day. "You know what they do to those who don't attend the reapings, don't you my girl?"

I nod at her. "They kill them," I wipe at my face, further mixing all the dirt, sweat, and dark eye shadow. "Don't see why it matters much, though. I'm already dead."

She sets a soft hand on my shoulder. Sometimes it's almost as if she cares for me. "I can't afford to lose you," Her fingers whispered up my neck, lingering at my jaw. "You're one of my best sellers." That's all I really am to anyone. A best seller. A nice body. A good fuck. But why should I care, even? No one will ever be able to love me.

"Well, I can assure you that you won't find me skipping out on this year's reapings," I give her a reassuring smile, knowing that I really won't miss them, because I'm volunteering today, and she doesn't suspect a thing. Poor bitch. "Help me get cleaned up?"

"Ah, of course," Cherry tangles her fingers in with my hair, smiling. "Can't have my best whore going out looking like she passed out in a ditch." She pulls a dead leaf from my blonde locks.

She pulls me up roughly. "I'll go get Petra, have her wash all the shit off you," Her eyes examine every inch of my body, taking in every pore that's clogged up with the dirt of the alleyway. "Gather your clothes."

I lean down to scoop up my typical outfit: short-shorts, stockings, a t-shirt, and my black fingerless gloves. Petra waddles over with a bucket and a rag, slapping the wet cloth on me without warning. I sigh and let her wipe away the dirt from my skin. I really don't mind, but it might be easier to take Petra touching me all over if she was anything to look at.

None of the alley women are very easy on the eyes. Most of them have been worn down by years of sickness and hunger. Issues with self worth and moral have wiped away the layers of beauty that most of them once obtained. If I stay here, that is my fate. I'm bound to end up lying in dirt and coughing up blood for the rest of my life, covered in wrinkles like a peach that spent the day out in the sun. I'm not about to let any of this happen to me. I will not let myself waste away before I can feel the touch of real, true love.

Petra washes off the streaks of makeup on my face and creases her brow. "I was just like you once," Her voice always sounds like paper being torn in half: rough but constant, bearable enough. "Young and unafraid. I thought nothing could touch me- besides, you know… men. But spending your life in a hellhole like this, where anyone can just… where anyone can just use you so freely… like you're a public restroom… It builds up so much regret, girl."

I purse my lips. What is the point of this lecture? There's nothing to talk me out of if I'm not staying here. "Regret is for the weak. You know why?" I pull her hand away from my face and step back, shaking my hair out. "Because everything is your choice, and if you spend your time looking back on all those choices, then all you'll ever do is make more mistakes for you to regret. It's a cycle you fall into. So if you feel like a public restroom, it's your own damn fault."

"You're already planning on leaving," Her eyes stare blankly up at me. "Cherry won't be pleased, but I ain't tellin' her."

I give her a half-smile. "That's good," I pull my white tee over my head. "Say a word and I might have to kill you." I wink, just to seem like I'm kidding.

Petra shakes her head, letting out a sigh. "Cherry makes her money off young girls like you," She starts to hobble away with her bucket and rag. "But she'll get over it after a few days. She'll replace you easily."

I'm not sure if that's supposed to comfort me or not: the feeling of being easily replaceable. I wish I could just be something strong enough to support more than just myself… I want to be needed, not just wanted. It gets tiring trying to convince myself that I can spend forever with only myself as company.

I pull on my stockings, making another rip in them with my toenail. By now, all my clothes have gone to hell and back, or they sure look that way at least. My shorts are all brown with dirt, and I can't quite remember what color they were before, but I wear them anyways. Then I slide on my fingerless gloves. For years my look has never quite been complete without these babies, and sometimes I can't remember what my palms look like without black cloth covering them.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk down the alleyway, passing all the prostitutes. Most of them watch me stroll by, but none wave or acknowledge me any further than just that glance. An unfamiliar man is walking the opposite direction, towards me. He's probably in his forties, his clothes are clean and finely woven, his hair is very well-groomed, but his eyes look so detached. Rich, but not happy. That's what he is, and that's why he's here.

His hand stops me by the shoulder when I try to get past, but I nonchalantly remove it and keep going. His footsteps follow close behind. "Look," I call out behind me, "I have no time… Sort of have somewhere to be. Leave me alone."

The footsteps don't stop, and I feel a strong grip on my ass. That's it, I warned this bastard, and once is always enough. I turn and raise my elbow so it catches him in the jaw and his hand leaves my body. His head jolts to the right and my fist collides with it right there, sending him left, and onto the ground. Serves him right. I could've been late.

Soon enough, my heels are clicking up the pavement of the town square where the Reapings are. In District One, this event has less to do with picking random teenagers to fight to the death, and more to do with teenagers _volunteering_ to do exactly the same thing. It's just… so typical.

I sign in and take my spot with all the other seventeen-year-olds. They smell like someone swam in flowers and gold and it honestly makes me want to barf. All these teenagers in this crowd are exactly the same, but me? I'm the one people here stare at in horror; the one they can only hope gets run over by a car, or eaten by a rabid dog. Because I am definitely not typical.

Speaking of "typical", here's the mayor, standing on stage and going on and on about the annual tradition of the Hunger Games as if people are actually listening. I for one don't care about the people who have died, or won. I don't care about how these Games started out of the ashes of a rebellion, as a symbol of what-the-fuck-ever. I'm only here for the chance to give my life to something that isn't prostitution, and no one can stop me.

Finally there's a change in pace as the golden-haired Telina sways back and forth on stage with a big, idiotic grin on her face. Her words blare through the microphone and over the town square, and I honestly don't pay much attention to what she's saying until her stick-thin fingers find their way to one of the bowls before her. "And the female tribute for District One this year is…"

If I'm going to volunteer, I need to do it quickly and beat the rush. "I volunteer!" I call it out before Telina can even say the name, and I instantly feel hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at me, their gazes boring deep into my skin.

_Well, they can stare all they want. It won't stop me_. I flip my hair back into the face of a girl behind me and smirk, strutting up to stage. Everyone around me is already talking, whispering bits of gossip about me, sharing their thoughts about the girl who just volunteered.

I make it onto stage and someone shouts, "She can't represent us!"

Then another: "Someone else take her place."

I snatch the microphone from Telina and scowl at the crowd. "I'm Diamante' Verlac, I'm representing District One in this year's Hunger Games, and I'd like to thank you all for being so damn supportive." I give them all a venomous smile and shove the microphone back in Telina's hands.

Maybe they don't like the idea of me now, but I'll have them questioning everything they ever stood for when I come back to this district as a victor.

**Okay, that at least wasn't as inappropriate as I thought it would be. How do you guys think it turned out? What do you think of Dia? Please leave a review, and I'll try to update soon with the male tribute for District 1, Link Driscoll. Bye bye for now!**

**-Maddie**


	3. District 1 Male

**Holaaa. First, I'd like to apologize for the long wait… Can we pretend it's only been a few days? Excuse time: I had major writer's block, and once I was ready to write, I wrote half of the chapter, and then my laptop broke down… and is now with my mother. (It's awkward because once it gets fixed she'll read through all my stuff and in Link's reaping [first edition], there was something about fucking butterfaces… And basically I'm dead.) So that right there is my karma for not updating sooner. Anyways, I still don't have my laptop, but my stepmom helped me with converting a document to Word so I could get it on here, and I know you don't care… but now you know.**

**Before I start, I'd like to thank Vanity's Insanity (Tristen) for helping with my writer's block, QueenOfSwordsAndDaggers (Cat) for getting me to write today with a marriage proposal, and of course shekh ma shieraki anni (Julia) who made the lovely Link Driscoll that I'm writing for you today. Enjoy! Hopefully it's worth the wait, and if it isn't… I'm really sorry. It'll probably be short… But enjoy it anyways.**

**Link Driscoll, District One**

All the girls stare as I spar with the obviously less talented boy before me. And I mean, usually I'm not one to brag, but why wouldn't they stare? I'm a god: the kind that people pray to at night because they've got no one else but a young, chiseled man to put their faith into. I take a quick glance at the girls sitting at the sidelines. At first look, I'd say I've banged all of them before. They're here for seconds, probably… Too bad I hate leftovers.

The blonde twink I'm fighting makes a swing at my jaw and suddenly the fight is back into focus. I don't have much time to react. I just block his hit and attempt to swing my leg up into his side. He catches it. This is an old trick. See, it's obvious that he's about to flip me over and get me on the ground, so I turn before he can make me and sink my other foot into his gut. He doubles over, and I regain balance and push him back, laughing.

"Good fight, bud," I let out a lie that he should consider charitable. It was a terrible fight, because he's so predictable with his moves that… that a girl could beat him! Ha!

Speaking of girls, I look back to the four that are watching me. It's funny because they bat their eyelashes so much, I'd swear they had some sort of condition. A hot guy really does crazy things to girls. I wink at them to really get their estrogen pumping, and one giggles, but I don't pay any particular attention to the details of her features. I've got better things to do than a massive butterface. I walk out of the training center with a small white towel slung around my neck. Today is reaping day, and although I'm sure everyone already knows I'm volunteering, I'd like to keep the image up.

As soon as I get out I see little Cleo standing near the sidewalk waiting for me. She's not exactly what I'd call good for my big career, ladies-man image, but she's my little sister, and the only girl I've ever loved. She gives me a bright smile. At age eleven, she's already just as beautiful as our mom (if not more so, because let's face it: our mom's got a huge mole on her chin that could make a beast whimper at its ugliness). Cleo's thick brown hair blows into her face and I scoop her up, lifting her to my shoulders.

I don't let out a single grunt as I support her weight, and she laughs, tangling her fingers into my hair and leaning forward against my neck. I start to walk towards our house. "So, Cl'o, how was your day?"

"Mm…," she stays silent for a moment, thinking. Every time I ask this question she has to maul it over for a bit, as if to assess how she really feels. "I guess I'm doing okay, even though I know what you're doing today and that makes me sad… This boy in my class says he's got a cousin in Two that will rip you apart. Rip you apart, Link! That sounds scary if you ask me."

I laugh at her naivety. Like anyone could rip me apart, or even _try_ to hurt me… _Please_. I'm Link Driscoll, and I'm the most untouchable man in Panem. "Really, Cleo, you believe him?" Her legs tense against my hands that hold her in place and with a sigh, I continue, "I've spent every day for years training. And remember when I use to beat up the monsters in your closet so they wouldn't hurt you? It really won't be much different in the arena. Those monsters never left a scratch."

Cleo's entire body moves against mine as she shakes her head, convinced. "You're right. That boy is _silly_. No one can hurt you."

We round the corner to our house. "No one can hurt me," I agree.

"I'm ready!" Cleo sings, and spins out of her room in a new purple dress that our mom bought her.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," I smile down at my sister, sliding a plate of toast across the table for her. "And pretty girls have to eat. Hurry up; Reapings are in less than an hour and we have to meet Mom and Dad there."

She nods and crams the entire piece of toast into her mouth, laughing at the look I give her and almost spitting it up. "That's disgusting," I shake my head, laughing lightly.

"Your hair ish dishcuffin," Cleo mumbles, her voice muffled by toast. I turn my head to look in the cupboard glass. She's right. It's still sweaty and messed up from training this morning. I mean, the rest of me looks great, but there is something off about what's residing on the top of my head.

I point at her, raising my eyebrows. "That it is, that it is. I'm going to fix it now, thanks."

I walk down the hall and into my room. It's wide-open and heavily lit, like the rest of the house. One thing about the Driscoll's: we've never had money problems- probably not even my ancestors from the BC times. I quickly comb my hair back and look at it. Not good enough. My feet tap on their way to my bathroom attached to my bedroom. I could care less about what I'm wearing for this "occasion", but hair is always important. Chicks love hair.

I take the gel off the shelf above the toilet and turn to the mirror on the other wall. I smile at myself. This face is the face of a winner. Always has been, always will be. I slick my hair back with the gel and wink at myself_. A winner with great hair_.

I walk briskly out of my room and look to Cleo for approval. She nods. "Much better."

"Wipe the crumbs off your face and let's get outta here," I say to her in a rush, grabbing my coat.

"Calm down, Link," Cleo sighs as she slides off her chair. "We've got plenty of time, ya know…"

"I just wanna leave before-" I swing the front door open to see a tall hooded boy standing in the entryway. My words stop as he smiles at me. My eyebrows instinctively knit together as I step outside and shut the door behind me so Cleo won't hear a word. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What," the boy's smile gets increasingly more maniacal. "Not happy to see me?" His voice is raspy and shows just how much he's been shooting up the past few years.

"Not in the least," I scowl at him. "Told you I did want to see you around here ever again."

A rough laugh escapes his lips. "The boys've been talking 'bout you…," he stuffs his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. "We all know your little sister turned you soft."

"Oh, fuck off!" I shove him back and he stumbles, throwing his hands up into the air and shaking his head.

"I ain't here to start a fight, Link! Just figured maybe…," he looks around cautiously before pulling a perfect-looking needle full of morphling out of his pocket. "you'd be craving a little 'pling… Heard you were volunteering, thought maybe you'd like to get high and think that option through some more."

My eyes dart between his and the needle. I wring my hands, trying my best not to be tempted by this offer. "You're an idiot," he smiles at me again, watching as I buckle down and become nothing but a pile of nerves. "Get the fuck out."

"Please, take it…," the cool glass of the needle presses against my knuckle and I jerk away from it, twitching. "I insist."

"Link?!" There's a knock on the door from inside. "What are you doing out there? Who came to visit?"

"C-Cleo, just stay inside!" I take the needle from him and he laughs, but stops when I shoot him a look of challenge and drop it to the ground, crushing it under my foot.

He looks disappointed. "You bastard."

"Move along now, low life."

He scoffs at me and shuffles away, head down, without even looking back. He should know that the chapter of my life where I spend every second high on morphling is over. And I'm never going back.

Cleo and I walk to the town square where we meet up with our parents. I'm sure they speak- hell, my dad probably gave a 20-minute rant about how to hold myself when I volunteer. I, however, do not listen, and I shake off my parents to go register for this year. Cleo, being 11, walks off with my parents after waving to me.

Routinely, I get in line immediately after the annual pinprick. This year, it's the eighteen year olds that I stand with, and I hold my head higher than the rest, because this year I'm the lucky one that'll be returning as Victor. The mayor walks on stage, but the crowd continues to talk among themselves, although most of the small talk centers on the Games. The mayor drones on for a bit before Telina takes his place, fluffing out her long, golden-colored hair.

She scans over the crowd, smiling like she just got Botox, and does not hesitate to pull out a girl's name and lean in towards the microphone. "And the female tribute for District One this year is…"

Suddenly, a cry of a volunteer rings through the crowd, and whispers erupt everywhere. I almost laugh when I see who it is. Dia Verlac, the district's slag. I wolf whistle as she takes her place on stage and tries to act all high and mighty. It doesn't work; all she looks like to me is a weak orphan who sells her body to buy drugs. Oh wait… that's exactly what she is.

Finally, after the whore's five minutes of fame, Telina moves on, and her fingers dip into the boy's bowl. She calls out the name of a boy from my class, and he hoots and hollers until I clamp my hand down on his shoulder. "I volunteer."

This time, all eyes are on me. Everyone looks me up and down as if analyzing the latest fashions in a clothing store. I step up onto the stage with a confidence that wasn't so newfound. Telina hands me the microphone. "I'm Link Driscoll."

"Link Driscoll!" She repeats like the parrot she is.

"And if you think this ho is gonna win over me…," I look to Dia. "Well, you're going to have a blast watching these Games, 'cause I'm in it to win it."

**Well, that was longer than I thought it'd be… Also a lot more pointless than I thought it'd be. Ah well, until next time… Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long. Ta ta!**

**-Maddie**


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